


Forgive all my virtues

by Zje



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Confessional, Gen, inspired by Fleabag, non-binary Aziraphale, non-binary Crowley, questioning the ineffable plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 03:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19417630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zje/pseuds/Zje
Summary: Aziraphale can't quiet the doubts concerning God's ineffable plan any longer and hopes confessing to a Catholic priest might help in any way. We know who the priest is going to be. Heavily inspired by 2x4 of Fleabag.





	Forgive all my virtues

It had been a long century of war and disease, suffering and death. Aziraphale had done their best to ease humanity’s suffering in small ways - a miracle here, finding children alive buried under the rubble caused by the war’s bombs, a blessing there to find freshwater in a wasteland. But in the grand scheme of things all their actions amounted to nothing more than drops of water in an ocean of, well, hell on earth. 

Not that hell had explicitly claimed responsibility for the wars. An insatiable hunger for power coupled with little regard for the wellbeing of others had, sadly, turned out to be a very common human trait across the millennia. And ultimately nothing any angel tried to counteract evil in the world, God’s plan remained ineffable, unknowable, infallible. Aziraphale wondered what that plan really entailed. Wondering held danger, they knew that, and yet could not quiet the doubt in the back of their mind anymore. 

That is how Aziraphale found themself in the most likely yet unlikely place an angel could find themselves: a Catholic confessional, long after sundown. After all, Catholic priests, they figured, would understand the predicament of believing in God and fearing to fall from grace should they voice their doubts of His plans out loud. And besides, Aziraphale had always been curious about confessionals and the cleansing power they seemed to hold over humans. In any case, a church seemed to them a safe haven from heaven’s ears, ironically, hidden in plain sight. What angel would doubt the integrity of a Catholic church? Any angel who’s spent some time on earth, obviously. 

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned.“ The words, parroted from pious humans, felt strange in their mouth. 

The priest on the other side of the compartment remained silent. Aziraphale touched a sleeve at their transpiring forehead. 

“How long has it been since your last confession?“ The priest asked in a whisper, almost hissing. 

„Oh, quite a while, I’m uncertain whether I’ve actually ever-“ Aziraphale cleared their throat. “I used to… there used to be no doubts in my mind about God’s plan. Well, I suppose there always were doubts, but I elected to… silence them. Banish them to the pantry so to say.“ 

“Go on.“ 

Aziraphale’s mouth felt dry. His tongue feared to be pierced by unseen daggers should he speak the words out loud. But there was no going back now. 

“I have seen… quite my share of suffering. Well, not my share, but I’ve seen people suffer. Thousands, millions of them. For mill- for ages. And yet they believe in God. Yet I believe in God. Although, it’s not as much belief as it is _knowing_ God’s there, regardless of my belief in Him.“ They took a deep breath. “But I can’t help but wonder, how can all of this“- gesturing around the confines of the confessional felt quite inadequate to encompass all they meant -“how can it all be part of His plan? The wars? The suffering? The diseases? And don’t get me started on the Plague.“ Aziraphale shook their head. “Well, I have to be fair, humans also invented penicillin and insulin and crêpes.“

The priest hummed in agreement.

“And there are those who help one another wherever they can, certainly, but their numbers are few and far in-between. If God dangled power and might in front of a person, any person, chances are they’d push anyone out of the way to get it - oh forgive me, lord, but the ineffable plan seems flawed.“ 

The priest chuckled. Aziraphale went on. 

“If it’s… if it’s all a test, a test to see which path humanity chooses, I can’t help but notice the game is skewed. Ever since Hiob, who really has the capacity to withstand horrible news day after day? How is the test in any way fair when there’s not even a reward for horribleness endured on earth?“

“’suppose the heavenly afterlife is the reward.“

“But what if…“ Aziraphale hesitated. “What if heaven turns out to be a disappointment compared to the pleasures of earth?“ 

The priest laughed. “Sins of the flesh are quite enjoyable. Or so I’ve, er, um, heard.“ 

Aziraphale blushed. 

“It’s okay“, the priest said after the angel had gone silent for a couple of breaths, “it’s alright to indulge in sins. That’s what confession is all about, I suppose. Me telling you it’s alright, you telling me, me forgiving you. So tell me your sins.“

“Oh, I don’t know if I’ve ever-“ Aziraphale faltered. “I suppose… gluttony?“ 

“A little gluttony never hurt anybody. What else?“ 

“Aiding someone I’m not supposed to. Against God’s explicit wishes.“ Aziraphale gasped at how easily the words spilled from their mouth. 

The priest’s voice sobered. “And?“

“Using God’s gifts for my own gain, I suppose.“

“And?“

Aziraphale shook their head. The feeling of guilt scratched at their throat and filled their stomach with unease. “… Frightened.“

“Of what?“ 

“Of… falling.“

“Falling from grace?“

“I’m not supposed to… to doubt, to question. Questioning is how… _people_ fall. From grace. Fall from grace. Loose their faith. Question and you shall be damned, pits of sulphur, blackened wings…“ Aziraphale took a deep breath to steady themself. “I want to be able to trust in God, in heaven, completely again. Let Him tell me what to think, what to do, what to believe and what to hate. Who to love. I suppose… I suppose I want someone to tell me how to live, and to not have doubts in my mind about it being the Right Thing. Because so far it felt like I was getting it wrong.“ He took a shaky breath. “I believe that’s why people believe. Believe in a ruleset that tells them how to live. But if it’s not worth it, in the end, then what’s the point? If no good deed, or evil deed for that matter, makes a difference towards the outcome? What if it’s all destined to end in flames one way or another? A Great War to end it all? I’m scared. Scared that my actions don’t count. Scared that asking these questions alone will be reason enough to kick me out of heaven. Even though it should not matter, even though asking these questions should not be a felony in and of itself, and blind belief, I’ve seen, brings nothing but peril if what or who you’re following may not even lead you to the place you want to go. I don’t know if I’m more scared to follow God’s plan against my doubts, or to fall from His grace and find another path. Then again, as someone once said to me, damnation isn’t all that bad once you get used to it.“

“So what _do_ you want?“ A dangerous, low whisper. 

“Tell me… tell me what to do. Just tell me what to do.“ The words hung in the air in front of them like puffs of smoke. Aziraphale felt a chill. 

For a long moment, the priest stayed silent. Aziraphale already feared he’d left them here with the feeling of guilt and unease wrenching their insides. 

“Kneel.“ The priest’s voice sounded hoarse.

“What?“

“Kneel.“

Aziraphale’s heart beat faster as their mind was filled with wordless thoughts. But, finally, against their better judgement, they dropped down to their knees, slowly, awkwardly within the confines of the confessional stand, and waited. _Perhaps a prayer_ , they thought, _a prayer for forgiveness for my insolence before God_.

The curtains of the confessional were swept aside, nearly ripping them from their hinges. Crowley’s eyes seemed to glow in the dark of night, boring into Aziraphale’s. For several shallow heartbeats they looked at each other, aware of the other’s presence, aware from the beginning. An acknowledgement passed without words. A question. The existence of questions where there should be none. And something like recognition. 

Crowley got down to their knees, in front of Aziraphale, and took their face into their hands.


End file.
